United
by Dragonmorph
Summary: The land returned to form Pangaea. The human race was dying out, but in the midst of things, countries became reality to restore their own kind. However, the leaders of the new world were not going to let them leave that easily. Only one country remained and believed to be the last until he learned about his love who was on the other side while war was in the middle of his journey.
1. Chapter 1

**Whee! I was in the mood for another fantasy story. I decided to use the idea for an original story I'm writing and made it part of the Hetalia universe. I had some trouble picking out the right characters to fit the job, but unfortunately some characters might be OCs (a.k.a. the bosses) and so forth. I hope this will turn out to be a pleasant experience for those who read it.**

**Pairing(s): Mentions/ of (past) CanUkr | Warning(s): Swearing, mentioning of drinking. **

**R&R**

* * *

In the fortress where the bosses of ancient America resided, they had lax natures and lazily waited to be fed by the servants. A turn was taken for each man to take his share of his favorite delicacy and the the drink he preferred this evening. Everything went smoothly for the leaders of their own section of Pangaea and they gorged on the wealthiness they earned themselves after the fall of Earth.

Each man toasted with a drink to each one, their voices echoed their bellied laughs, and the brightness in the mood. The servants looked down when they aren't inspected or spied on, but they learned to trick their masters into believing they were appreciative of the job to pay for their family in poverty. After all, only the wealthy men and women managed to truly live without the growling gut or the parched throat.

Unless the bosses were part of the chattering group, nobody else spoke up though some mentioned commentary through well executed whispers to their friends. If one was caught passing notes, they were punished severely in the fearful notion it was battle maps to raid the fortress through the underground dungeon to the room where bosses ate like kings.

Neither of them expected to move out of their chairs with mild agitation when their annoying messenger, Bird, rushed into the room of velvet carpets and glittering light bulbs.

One of the leaders, a short and stout man stood up with his dark eyes filled with undesirable interest for the news which Bird brought. Bird continued to shout random words, but the young man stopped to take in the oxygen he needed to even live and to speak. If it wasn't for the patience which hadn't decayed, he wouldn't hesitate to suck air out of the messenger. Instead, he bought into the possible news while he feasted on a small snack.

After Bird caught his breath, he spoke loudly: "Bosses of America! I had heard some news about one country."

"A country?" The bosses chattered amongst themselves in complete and utter surprise. How did they let a country loose?

The dark-eyed one shook his head while his comrades continued to whisper. "Nonsense. Why are there any countries left when we took them all and burnt them?" He said angrily, but he secretly was confused and frightened.

"Someone pointed out they saw someone unusual run around what once was Canada." Bird feared punishment and he trembled, but he said nothing more. He shaded his own eyes from the older man.

The bosses' burst out laughing at what could possibly be Canada. All except the dark-eyed boss whose own eyes widened with nervousness etched all over. He smirked to hide his uncomfortable facial expression and dismissed Bird before he decided to explode into a bomb. He turned his gaze upon the bosses whom some fell off their chair laughing hysterically and sighed just figuring how much they knew about once was his own underling.

_Canada. You truly think you can elude your former boss? I know you from head to toe so you can't rely on your natural talent to conceal yourself. _The boss smiled to himself and believed if Canada was truly where his home was, he would send out troops to find him immediately.

"I'm going to the military district where I can convince some of my men to track down the last country. The last thing he need is for him to spark more of a rebellion by claiming he is the last country." The man said and slowly walked towards the right side of the room where a door was locked. He pulled out his keys from his pocket and plunged one into the keyhole until it clicked and opened the door where the men partied. The music halted and the men paused the action they were doing. Many scrambled to line up and a sloppy job too until each one saluted their leader.

"What do you need, sir?" The men chorused proudly.

The boss's eyes gleamed with their intent of loyalty to him. "Well, my boys." He said, moving around. "I need you to track down a target for me."

* * *

Bird was slowly swiftly across the hallway where the walls were grey and filthy. He avoided the large webs at the corner and averted his eyes from the servants. He was upper class compared to them, but he felt something wise and deadly were in those eyes. He shook the nightmarish thought away and kept moving forward until something grabbed his shoulder and he yelped as he was pulled back.

A young man with dirty blonde hair and those scary blue eyes vehemently glared at him. His lips were pursed, but Bird exaggerated often in how some servants could reveal white teeth stained in blood due to his sharpened teeth. However, it wasn't the case when the man, a few years older gritted teeth slightly yellow from the lack of hygenic products. Many things were overpriced and the wealthy had always sunk money into beauty products. These teeth were normal chewing teeth with a few pieces of dirt stuck in his gums, but all the same, threatening.

Bird squirmed under the tight grip which made it feel even tighter. The older man hissed slightly, trying to speak clearly in the old English language.

"You..." He spat. "Wh..what are you trying to do to the poor boy?" His accent and dialogue were exotic yet raspy and strained to speak clearly. Bird would of loved to listen to him speak if it wasn't dripping with venom.

"What boy?" Bird asked innocently, but part of his words were stuttered with pure fear.

"That country boy." He defined, his eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to do?"

Bird's brown eyes looked down and out of fear, he bit down, hard, on the hand who held him captive and ran. The servant howled in pain and fury, but he did not follow. He nursed his injured hand and moved away, more angry than ever.

* * *

"Oh, my Kat. What am I to do? I think one of the loyalists caught me." A young man pleaded with the air.

The air carried through his long wavy locks and his violet eyes dripped with actual tears. He was scared and he wasn't sure what to do. He had heard the tales about the countries who were burnt to death as the older days were part of such. However, he wasn't against religion or people. He never rebelled and he made his ways clear and gentle without offending or threatening any human or boss alike. Yet, why were they after him? Why the others?

He prayed to anyone or anything that Katyusha was okay. He couldn't say the same for his family though; his beloved caretakers and his bastard of a brother. He couldn't even believe it when he missed the caretakers fighting and America's annoying laugh. The bosses had made it clear, though, when they warned him about the other countries. The countries of whom were listed as executed had families living in poverty much worse than before.

A country was tied to its prosperity, but how did the others die? The people were suffering and he saw it each time he slipped into a town and drank at a bar to drown his sorrows. He saw the sad faces of children. They wailed for hunger and thirst while their mother watched helplessly while she suffered the brunt of the stress. It was rare when he sneezed, indicating the failure of an economy, but he never sneezed or had a cold. The only cold he had was the shiver of the guards when they looked for him or the icy feeling of a dreaded winter.

He bought himself a loaf of bread. He never needed to eat, but he pretended to eat it without raising suspicion to himself. Either way, he would be gone in morning and they would forget their own human personified country ever came to visit. He had his own ways to concealing his own body thanks to Northern Italy's artistic abilities and his own quiet demeanor, and it served him well when he had the time to spare to gather rocks, dirt, sticks, grass and leaves from the wilderness outside his hotel room.

The country of Canada moved outside his his warm loaf of bread and he saw the same family from earlier huddling into the corner while a fire was threatening to hide and blow out. even warmth and light had cruel in the new world and it was nice before during the prehistoric times though he never been in those times. He just knew the world he lived in where survival of the fittest became a strong point in reality.

The woman blinked her blue eyes and her own gaze hardened suspiciously. Canada assumed she thought he was going to taunt her with his share of a meal. It surprised her when the stranger walked over to her in his warm jacket and handed her the bread. She eyed him and the bread, but she couldn't conceal the hunger which lingered fiercely in her depths. She snatched the bread fearfully and hoarded it until her kids woke and reached out for the heavenly item called food.

The man backed up slowly and moved away until a voice was carried by the icy wind.

"D-da..nk yuuu.." She tried to whisper through her parched lips.

Canada genuinely smiled after what felt like a long time and moved off into the night to be forgotten once more.

...

The kind offer slowly reminded him of an injured girl around his age. She had a calm blue-grey gaze and light-brown hair. He gave her what he had for food when he once craved the human energy resource. He tended to her wounds and she thanked him in a language he couldn't understand. Well, he pretended to not know when he decided to play human for fun before the whole mess where he had to stay human to stay alive.


	2. Chapter 2

**Super duper worried on how I'm going to pull off the rest of the story since I only have two chapters written overall both original and this one. Updates may be slower to do my slow processing of ideas and due to some other stories I really need to get my tail to work on. Well, I hope this is a decent chapter with another cliche world of the post-apocalypse. I'll try to explain some of the back-story on how it came to be later.**

**I just realized this is similar to my other Hetalia story. Failure on my creative mind process.  
**

**R&R?**

* * *

Canada could hardly remember his own past of how he was birthed and why he was fated to exist. All he could barely recall was the face of the man and woman who raised him with their darling brown eyes and golden smiles of genuine love.

They held him while he was a small toddler with his oddities compared to them. He had eyes so blue and rare, it radiated the violet dye in his irises; yet nobody could notice its true nature: radiation of the wisdom of many years and the rise of the land-mass came to be known as Canada. He liked having his blonde hair grow longer and it hardly affected him in schools where many forgot he even existed. He had questioned if he was truly meant to exist when he got to his rebellious stage, but his foster parents shushed him and told him his young face was made for them only.

It worked for some time, but his intellect expanded broad and the apparent knowledge in history impressed his teacher. It confused him though when the talk about America lowered his enthusiasm with a face of an irritated older brother with troublesome siblings. He didn't know then - both of the teacher and the star pupil about countries living among mankind. The real mankind where the population wasn't made up of the extremely poor and the overtaxing governments as many described the world before it stumbled. Still, Canada kept to himself and used the name given to him: Matthew Williams. The Williams family were both sterile, but it never tainted their parenting abilities. He owed them that much to eagerly accept the surname when he was merely known as Matthew by all.

He still looked the same with a bright young face, but his eyesight demanded he needed to get glasses. He held his polar-bear plush whom he dubbed Kumajirou and squeezed it when he went to the optometrist. His body was still young, but while his eyesight slowly dimmed, the glasses provided him with a sharper view on the distances. Speaking of his eyes, even the doctors commented on the loveliness of his radiant violet-blue eyes. He felt self-conscious about his own appearance though. He had a right didn't he? He looked different from his parents until a dark-eye gaze swept over him.

"Hello, 'Matthew'...or should I say Canada?"

...

"Are you sure you want contacts? Your eyes are startling violet." The woman at the desk of an old-fashioned glasses store commented.

Canada gritted his teeth, but he hid the irritation on his face the best he could. It wasn't enough as her brows furrowed with a hint of embarrassment. He nodded his head and looked away with his eyes elsewhere - self-conscious reason and the depths of a country's eyes held enough memories on the outside any human would recognize him immediately- which he hoped she didn't pick up the sign of any suspicious behavior. No, she didn't notice and he nearly breathed out in relief. "Yes, I'll need them." He finally said, his gaze started upon the row of the colors.

"Okay." She replied calmly. "You can pick out which color you prefer."

He nodded, a quick glance her way, and he felt sorry for appearing "energetic" and rude. The rows revealed various shades of eye colors it went from a natural hazel to the color of an ex-nation's peculiar red eyes. The thought made him mentally shudder at the memory when he last saw Prussia and he regretted not helping him when the bosses took an unexpected action on everyone. He reminded himself to act normal and he managed it for another second before he felt his head was going to pop off his neck.

_What a mess that would be for the poor woman._ He chuckled darkly at the image of the aftermath. After all, the countries would be gone and perhaps humanity was better off without someone they would forget anyway. His brother, America, was naturally and ironically a well-spoken man when he took situations seriously. However, he never took presenting speeches to his president as easy as it was for him to express playing the hero. Again, the migraine returned and he randomly picked a color so he could leave without drawing a crowd - as if he would actually do so.

The woman looked down where his finger pointed at a certain color and blinked, inspecting his face to visualize how it would look on him. "Are you sure you want a brown color?"

"Sure." Canada said hastily and felt part of his heartbeat race while his legs urged him to run. He paced around quietly, turning his head towards the outside of the small department until the woman came back with the contacts.

He paid the fee, to her surprise of a man such as himself would be able to carry enough money around, and slipped into the bathroom to try on the new color. It made him feel not like Canada nor Matthew yet it oddly suited him? He blinked a couple of times to try the grip of the contacts and stuffed his case into the back pocket of his jeans. He would get rid of it later after he left the store without any of _them _asking questions. He pushed his long hair back though he knew his wavy strand of a curl could give himself away. His hand went under the faucet and water sprayed onto the palm of his hand until it reacted with his curl (fortunately not a zone he knew the twins had) and pressed it against the rest of his hair. It stuck perfectly, but he knew it was only temporary and possibly it would give away after he left.

After he rubbed the water off his one hand, he pressed open the door and wandered out as casually as possible. He followed the crowd of men waiting in a long line just to leave the damned store. It slowly occurred to him halfway he was going to meet up with the Dark Coats, the secret police whom they were in charge of arresting criminals and it included countries. His heart nearly stopped when he reached the end where a Dark Coat, in a pitch pack trench coat to fit his namesake, eyed him suspiciously. Canada kept moving forward and prayed his silent prayers to anything - cars, ants, spiders, boxes- which would prevent this man from seeing his true form.

He managed to make it outside, but the cold gaze the man held was far from mind-boggling. He literally made it out without getting caught, but why were there Dark Coats in Canada? Oh. The idiotic country, himself, probably sent the loyalists to his old boss and now he was a fugitive. He was in a lovely situation. He turned back and recognized how most of the shoppers were the upper class in the velvet and leathery products they used to gorge in the delicacies of the world whom 98% never got to experience again.

The hope shifted towards the family who he helped in a way with the bread. Karma perhaps? He never felt like a good man - just in the shadows of his older brother - yet part of him wanted to discover more than that.

An hour later after he went to the motel he resided in for the day with the terrible condition of giant rats and the gagging smell of rotting fle- food. He combed through his blonde hair with his long fingers and trembled with the shame if he were to cut it. After all, France was his role-model and he copied the hairstyle to accommodate it. He decided against it for another day and instead, picked out a random rubber band he found on the streets and wrapped the loose ends into a ponytail. He didn't have much to lose and he didn't care.

Hunger and thirst clawed at him while he was sketching out the map of Pangaea. It figured it would be easy following the radio of the weather and where each direction it went and the cities and the whole continent was truly just one continent left on Earth. Migration would make it easier on humans, but it also added to the exotic animals, plants and diseases which led to more of the reality of death. In spite of his difficulties, he managed to persevere only a little to discover the place he needed to go was East.

The growling stomach and parched throat forced him to abandon his studies for some time until he went outside to find what was left of a decent restaurant and decided on a place where they served small servings of meat and vegetables. He ate to the content of his now purring needs and yells soon littered the room with the massive noises outside.

Canada hastily paid his bill and went outside to see what the fuss was about. Two young men were brawling other a small piece of food which made Canada almost regretful of what his people had become.

"You fool! You think you can come to MY place and eat MY food? You should've listened to your mother about picking fights you can't win!" The man kicked the skinnier one until he curled up into a ball. "Be a man and fight!"

Most kept themselves in awe without doing anything. The country pressed through the crowd, but the damage was done and far too late. The curled up man got to his feet and slugged him, but he was bruised terribly enough he fell over. The man with the upper hand gasped, took the flesh, and ran for it. Some cries called out for the ambulances to come while some others told them to shush because the doctors became too greedy. Canada only knew so much in first aid, but knelt down to help the man.

The wounded man pushed his own country away while his eyes blazed. "Go away, well-fed bastard! I can handle myself. I can..."

Canada gave a light nudge. Nothing. He turned him on his side and felt his beating heartbeat. "He's still alive." He declared and the crowed sighed in relief. "Anyone skilled in medicine?"

One man stood out. "I only know a little bit of herbal healing from my family legacy."

"Can you help him?" The country asked almost pleadingly.

"I'll see what I can do." The man replied and inspected him, using whatever some of the remaining crowd gave him.

Canada bit his lip and wondered why he was helping a man who pulled himself into a fight. He could be helping everyone, but instead he fed on the hope of seeing his beloved again and the food this man risked his life for. It felt like days until the man declared he done what he could, but the young man looked ready to pass out again. He would manage to be alive a few more days at the least, it was told, and many offered to take him home to his aging grandparents.

"You're pretty impressive, sir. Most medicine used by us 'commoners' would be useless."

The doctor blushed slightly. "It's a family recipe which worked for ages. I still feel confident in the miracles it still can perform though he is too damage on the inside to be well again."

"Yes, I feel bad for him and I worry for this world, too." Canada stated sadly.

The doctor nodded grimly. "I wish the countries were here. They could help us. No, they had to take them though. I remember hearing about Canada being a kind man who would help those in need. Why did those monsters take him?" He started to rack in tears and ignored those who saw his emotions spill.

The country felt regretful for hiding from those who needed him most. He reached out where the curl still stuck to his hair and possibly considered cutting part of his identity away; piece by piece, starting with his golden hair.


End file.
